


there's no one in my coffin, there's nothing in my grave

by NahaFlowers



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Everybody Lives, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, In The Flesh AU, M/M, in the flesh - Freeform, these boys are so messed up but by GOD do they love a lot, this is actually way happier than either of the canons it's based on lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: On the third day, Jesus rose from the grave.But he wasn't the only one.JCS In The Flesh AU where Judas and Jesus are part of the Rising, i.e. they're zombies.





	there's no one in my coffin, there's nothing in my grave

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I had a flash of inspiration for how great this AU would be. Also written as a belated birthday present for my wonderful girlfriend, and also written for the Sin Squad in general, because I love y'all.
> 
> Note for anyone who hasn't seen In The Flesh - basically, on a specific night, lots of dead people (who died in the same/similar timeframe) rise from the dead, typical zombie apocalypse stuff. Except then some scientists manage to manufacture a drug (neurotrypataline) that restores certain chemical pathways in their brains, to allow them to basically remember and be who they were in life (except they're dead) and not be mindless, brain-eating zombies. That's the basic premise, most of it is set out in the fic but just an explanation to help along!

 

On the third day, Jesus rose from the grave.

 

 But he wasn't the only one.

 

 

Judas didn't know where he was, let alone who he was. He was barely cognisant of anything, except that he was hungry. Starving, in fact...

 

 Some leftover memory from his life, or newly awakened instinct led him to the nearest inhabited place.

 

 Afterwards, he would almost miss these moments without true consciousness or conscience. Almost.

 

 If not for what happened next.

 

 

The girl, Judas would realise later, during a particularly intense flashback, was one who had come to many of their protests. She was friends with Peter. Another person he could no longer meet in the eye.

 

She also smelled delicious, and Judas was starving. It happened in a moment - he approached her, she sensed him, turned, screamed, before her screaming was cut off by the sound of crunching and ripping and tearing, blood pouring out of her head as Judas gouged his way to the delicious brain beneath her skull.

 

He tasted it, and it was manna from heaven for all of two seconds, and then something punctured his skin and he knew no more.

 

"Anyway, he's in here." These were the first words Judas heard as he slowly regained consciousness, in both senses of the word, accompanied by the creaking of a door opening. Someone tutted to the left of him. "That door needs oiling," said the voice.

 

"Get Jeremy to do it," said another, bored-sounding voice.

 

"I will, but I don't want people to hear that anything is going on down here. We're taking enough risks doing this as it is." And yes, Judas thought he recognised that voice, though who belonged to, he couldn't say...

 

"We're safe here, I'm sure of it," said the other, deeper voice, sounding ever so slightly less bored, and perhaps a touch of whatever passed for reassuring. "Now, stop fussing, Annas." If Judas had been able to, he would have gasped. Of course. Fucking Annas. He somehow had the bad luck not only not to be dead, but also to be in the presence of Annas and, presumably, Caiaphas. Or perhaps he was dead, and in hell, and they had followed him down to torment him further. After all, surely the Devil himself had enough to be getting on with, without having to torture Judas himself. Much better to leave it to the lackeys.

 

"Annas, darling...really?" said (presumably) Caiaphas. "Him? Is this some side of sentimentality coming out that I wasn't warned of previously to marrying you?"

 

Judas, eyes still closed, could nevertheless practically hear the glare Annas gave his husband. He almost snorted at the idea of Annas showing any kind of sentimentality, especially involving him.

 

"Hardly. He was just...convenient." Judas did snort then. "Oh good, you're awake," Annas said.

 

Judas forced his eyes open to slits, just so he could glare up at the man. "Unfortunately," he tried to spit, but it came out cracked and broken. "Where am I?" he asked hoarsely.

 

"Never mind that, at the moment," said Caiaphas, smoothly. "Just tell Annas...does this hurt?"

 

Caiaphas pulled a switch, and Judas yelled. 

 

Jesus left the treatment centre on a Sunday, 6 months to the day after he had risen again. Before he left, he examined himself in the mirror. He had contacts and cover up mousse to hide the worst of his rotting, dead self, but there was nothing he could do to cover up the scars on his back from the lashes, or those on his hands from the nails. Those were with him forever, the rest of eternity it seemed. Some messiah, he thought in disgust.

 

Mary was as lovely as ever, and pleased to see him, through the tears in her eyes. She hugged him immediately. Peter, who had come with her, stood awkwardly to the side, not meeting Jesus's eyes - Jesus supposed he still felt guilty about denying him. Well, there was no more need for that. They had all done things that they regretted, shouldn't have done, him as much as anyone else, since he had come back. He pushed down the wave of self-hatred that roiled up in him and hugged Peter, kissing him on each cheek.

 

"Peter, good to see you," he said, and meant it. Peter looked up, surprised. He looked tired, almost dead tired, deep black circles under his eyes. Jesus supposed the past few months must have taken their toll on all of them.

 

"Let's go home," he said, looking at both of them for agreement. Instead they avoided his gaze.

 

"There isn't really...home...anymore," said Mary, after a very pregnant pause.

 

"But the Twelve? Simon? Everyone? They're OK?"

 

Peter shook his head. "The camp...we were out in the open, mate. No real way to protect ourselves, and nobody would help us. It was carnage." He took a deep breath, and the haunted look in his eyes suddenly made a lot more sense. "We're what's left."

 

Mary had tears in her eyes. "We don't even know what happened to Simon. He went off one night, with Jess, to get supplies. We-we found Jess's body," she said, with a quick glance at Peter, who swallowed, "but we don't know what happened to Simon. We tried looking for him, we never found a body so we were holding out hope but...he never came back. He's gone."

 

Jesus was just trying to process this. "But...what have you been doing? Where have you been living?" Where are you taking me back to? He wanted to say, but he didn't want to sound ungrateful.

 

"Well," said Mary, attempting to smile. "Joseph survived, you'll be pleased to hear. He'd have come to collect you, but he's rather...involved in the resistance movement at the moment. We've had to build from the ground back up," she explained, "but we wanted you to have something to come back to."

 

They had reached the door to the outside world. Jesus nodded attempting a smile, before Peter pushed the door open and sunlight hit his eyes.

 

They wouldn't let Judas go at first. After all, he had nowhere to go back to, and Annas didn't trust him to keep up his neurotryptaline injections up on his own. He was probably right, Judas thought. But God, he would rather be dead than spend another day in this place. He supposed that was kind of the point.

 

Then, one day, somebody came for Judas.

 

"There's someone here for me?" Judas repeated in shock as Annas told him this.

 

"That's what I said, isn't it?" said Annas irritably. This living in close proximity hadn't improved their relationship in the slightest. "And you'd better come quickly, because he's making a racket, and I've already got a headache."

 

Annas waited impatiently while Judas put in his contacts, then dragged him out of the room before he could start applying his cover up mousse.

 

"Hey!" said Judas.

 

"Oh come on, he already knows what you are."

 

Judas just scowled at the floor.

 

They reached the foyer and Judas felt shock slam into him as he saw a familiar leather jacket, now even more weathered and beaten up, familiar anarchy symbols shaved into his hair..."Simon?" Judas said, astonished.

 

"If you don't take me to him right the fuck now, I'm gonna fucking blow this place to smithereens, and don't think I fucking can't," Simon was saying.

 

"Simon!" Judas exclaimed, and then swallowed. What if Simon wasn't even here for him? Or what if he had just come here to yell at him, or kick his head in? As Simon turned to the sound of his voice, Judas wished he could reach out and take the sound back, turn round and trudge back to his room, spend the rest of his days in that hospital bed, annoying Annas until the man finally snapped and killed him, or he finally found a way to end it himself.

 

Then he was assaulted with an armful of Simon, and he lost his train of thought.

 

"Judas!" Simon shouted, and damn, Judas had forgotten how enthusiastic he could be. He drew back to look at Judas properly. "You have no fucking idea how absolutely pissed off I am at you, but there'll be time for that later. You have to come with me."

 

"And who says that we'll let him leave with you?" came Caiaphas's voice from behind him and Judas closed his eyes and squeezed the tip of his nose, willing himself not to break something.

 

"You can't stop him leaving with me, you fucking fascist," said Simon, and Judas almost smiled for the first time in over a year.

 

"We can if we don't think you're prepared to take care of him," said Annas, and Judas could hear the double meaning.

 

"Sure I'm prepared to 'take care of him'," said Simon, making quotation marks in the air. "Neurotryptaline daily, right? Got it."

 

Judas heard Annas sigh heavily behind him, and actually laughed. "What," he said, turning to look at Annas out of the corner of his eye, "don't tell me you're actually going to miss me."

 

"Hardly, darling. Just the sunshine and light that you bring to my daily life."

 

Judas rolled his eyes. "Come on, Simon," he said quickly, before they could change their minds and stop him, or have Simon arrested or something, "let's get out of here."

 

Simon nodded and headed towards the door, kicking it open just for the hell of it. Judas could almost see Annas wince.

  


Joseph was as pleased to see him as he ever was, but he wore the same haunted look as Peter under his eyes. They stared at each other for nearly a full minute.

 

Then Joseph said, "Son," in a broken voice, and that was all it took for Jesus to fall into his arms, sobbing.

 

"Dad," he choked into Joseph's shoulder, because he may have had a heavenly fucking father, but Joseph had always been his dad. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all this to happen. I didn't think this was how it would happen."

 

Joseph stroked his hair and hushed him. "Shh," he said soothingly, clumsy big fingers running through Jesus's hair, pulling a bit in the most comforting way. Joseph had always been the one he ran to when he needed comforting - his mother he went to for advice, but when all he could do was sob, it was Joseph's shirt that got soaked. "It's not your fault. How could you have known?"

 

"I should have listened to Judas," Jesus said. "He was right. I've just led us all to misery." He paused, feeling the room still. "Where is he?"

 

The silence remained.

 

"Where is he?!" Jesus shouted.

 

"He killed himself," said Joseph heavily. "Just before you died, son."

 

Jesus felt the bottom drop out of his world. This was all his fault. "And mother?" he asked hoarsely. Joseph just shook his head, dropping heavily down onto the sofa and burying his face in his hands. Jesus turned in horror to Mary and Peter for confirmation.

 

"Like we said," said Mary softly, looking desperately sorry, "we're the only ones left."

 

Jesus stumbled blindly towards the door and pushed it open, half-falling up the stairs and pushing his way into his childhood bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him. He threw himself onto his bed, sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe.

 

Sometimes, when you'd lost everything, it was all you could do.

 

Back with Simon, Judas was learning much the same thing, although he found he could hardly bring himself to care. He was too busy feeling sorry for himself, for still being alive. His body couldn't have done the decent thing and just died, could it?

 

"I knew you were around," said Simon. "I saw you kill Jess." The words shook Judas out of his reverie.

 

The flashback hit then, a painful one, and he buried his face in his hands, trying to hide from the memory burned so clearly into his eyelids. When he surfaced, he found Simon's hand on his arm, face close to his, looking worried. Judas shook him off angrily. "Flashback," said Judas, dismissively. "God, Simon, I'm so sorry. I-I can't make any excuses for it. Sure, I was a zombie, but- you know as well as anyone how vindictive and vicious I could be, even when I was alive."

 

"Yeah, but you had your reasons. Not that I'm not still fucking angry at you for betraying all of us. But you weren't in your right mind."

 

Judas let out a harsh bark of laughter. "What, when I killed Jess, or when I killed Jesus?" After all, the acts were equal in his mind.

 

"Both," said Simon simply. "Seriously, man, you've had a shitty fucking life, it's no wonder you're not exactly the most mentally healthy of people."

 

Judas snorted, pressing his fingers to his forehead, trying to massage the stress headache that was coming on all too quickly.

 

"But you're my friend," said Simon, "and I'm pretty fucking low on them at the moment, what with zombies having killed most of them."

 

"I'm sorry, Simon," Judas said, genuinely.

 

"I'm pretty sure Peter and Mary are alive, though," Simon went on obliviously. "Which is why I'm planning on finding them."

 

Judas heaved a sigh. Ever the optimist. "What makes you so sure? Simon, I hate to be the one to say it, but they're probably dead."

 

"Maybe," said Simon. "But I was out on a supply run with Jess when the rising happened, and someone took you down, but then there were a bunch of others surrounding me, and I had to run for it, and when the air had cleared and I went back, the camp had been cleared. They went somewhere else, I'm sure of it."

 

"Even if that's true, we have no idea where they are, Simon. How are we ever going to find them?"

 

Simon grinned and pulled a printed sheet of paper from his pocket; Judas got the feeling he had been waiting the whole conversation to pull it out. Judas could make out the words" "RESISTANCE", "FIGHT" and "RIGHTS" on it at a glance. It did look promising, although surely any remaining members of the Twelve wouldn't be the only revolutionary movement in this brave new world.

 

He pointed this out to Simon, who said, "Ah, but nobody else would be using my special blend of chemicals to print it - look, smell it." Simon shoved the leaflet in his face and Judas breathed in the slightly acrid smell. "Not only did I make damn good leaflets - this one's good but it's not a patch on my ROME LIES one, I gotta say, no offence to Peter - but I made sure you could always use them as a weapon - just light them up and they'll explode!"

 

"Fucking hell Simon, and how many of those were around camp all the time? Getting crushed on the floor? Blowing around? In a space where there was usually a campfire? Anyone could have got hurt! Did anyone else even know about this?"

 

"Only Peter," said Simon, "and stop complaining."

 

"I'm not complaining," grumbled Judas. "I'm being the sensible one."

 

"Complaining," said Simon, sticking his tongue out at Judas. "Anyway, you haven't even asked if I know where to find this resistance."

 

Judas rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll bite. Where do we find this resistance?"

 

Simon tapped his nose. "Follow me, pal."

 

They let Jesus sleep it off, knowing there was nothing they could do to make it better, but making sure he was comfortable with enough blankets.

 

In the morning, Joseph knocked tentatively on his door and entered when Jesus muttered a drowsy-sounding "Come in."

 

"Oh, dad," he said, tearing up as soon as he saw Joseph.

 

"Son," said Joseph in a choked voice, immediately coming to sit next to his son on the bed. Jesus rested his head on Joseph's shoulder.

 

"I am so, so sorry about mother," he said, rubbing his face comfortingly against Joseph's shoulder. "So sorry." He struggled to look up at Joseph and saw his tears reflected back at him in Joseph's own eyes.

 

"Me too, son," said Joseph. "But it's not your fault. And small blessing, but, she died near the start of the Rising, so she didn't have to witness too much of the horror."

 

Jesus nodded. Joseph had always been a stable, steady presence in his life, but to lose Jesus and then Mary within a matter of days? Weeks? Must surely have knocked him for six. He said as much to Joseph.

 

"Aye, son, but," he shrugged. "What can you do? Carry on, that's all."

 

Jesus nodded. "And look how much you've done," he said, proudly. "Mary said you were pretty much heading the resistance movement.”

 

"She may be giving me a little too much credit," said Joseph, with a smile. "But I try my best. Why should the government and authorities use the Rising as a reason to further oppress and divide us? Pitting living people against the Risen to achieve their own ends?" Joseph gave a little self-deprecating shake of his head at the unusually long speech. "It's not right."

 

"Right on, dad," said Jesus, in awe.

 

They were silent for a few minutes. Then Joseph tentatively patted Jesus on the back and said, "I'm sorry about Judas, son."

 

Jesus remained silent. He wasn't ready to talk about Judas and he wasn't sure he ever would be. He had so many feelings surrounding him that he felt unable to express, even more so now he was dead and gone, and he didn't think anyone else really understood the magnitude of them. He knew Joseph had some idea though, perhaps more than anyone else. He nodded. "Thanks," he managed.

 

Joseph nodded, understanding. "Anytime, son. Anyway, I've got to go and get some things done, you can come with me if you like?"

 

"No thanks, dad," said Jesus, feeling tired at the mere thought.

 

"No worries. If you need anything, Peter or Mary will be downstairs."

 

Jesus nodded, attempting a smile, and started to lie down again.

 

Being alive and the son of God and fated to sacrifice himself for mankind had always been a heavy burden. But being alive again, like this? That burden seemed even heavier, somehow. He would sleep a little while.

  


It took two days to get from the squat Simon had brought him to after leaving the treatment centre to the supposed headquarters of the resistance.

 

On the first night, when they had bedded down, Judas opened his rucksack properly for the first time since leaving.

 

In the front pocket was a box filled with several blister packs of tablets, accompanied by a note, in Annas's writing.

 

_"Hey kid,_

_Had Kristof knock up some antidepressants so they would work on someone of your physiology, as is now. Yes, he's also a chemist in addition to his many other skills and occupations, aren't we just the luckiest to have him? Anyway, don't want you dying out there, if only because you're pretty much my/our greatest achievement, and stopping you from topping yourself seems like a step in the right direction. So take them please, as instructed._

 

_Gods, I feel like a dad sneaking sweets into his kid's lunchbox. Remind me never to get attached to a subject again._

 

_Our number is in your phone, so don't hesitate to call if/when you run out. Now I feel even more like a dad._

 

_Fuck off and try not to break the law, Judas"_

 

Judas snorted when he read it and showed it to Simon. They both had a good laugh at the note.

 

"Not gonna lie, I'd kind of love to meet this Kristof guy. I feel like we'd have a lot to talk about," Simon said. Judas snorted again. "Are you gonna take them?" Simon asked, referring to the antidepressants.

 

"Are you kidding me? They've probably got tracking devices in. Or they'll kill me on the spot."

 

Simon laughed in agreement. "Still, maybe it could be a good idea to...try something..."

 

Judas rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Simon, I'm not gonna top myself again."

 

Simon looked at him dubiously, but then shrugged. "Your life, man," he said, and their day continued.

 

True to his word, Judas didn't take any of the pills. However, he did slip the packet, along with the carefully folded note, into his backpack along with the rest of his belongings, when they left their camp the next morning.

 

They reached the house where the Resistance was supposedly housed the following morning. Simon strode to the front door, confident of his reception (despite Judas's warnings, mostly unheeded, that as the alleged headquarters of the Resistance they would surely have some kind of password or security, rather than just opening the door to anyone), but Judas hung back, worried that he would not be received well by his former friends, even once they were aware of his identity. He had betrayed Jesus and caused his death, he had literally killed Peter's best friend...surely they would kick him out and tell him they never wanted to see him again?

 

There was the sound of footsteps walking to the front door, then silence as someone presumably looked through a peephole...then the fumbling of locks and bolts, and then Peter had launched himself into Simon's arms and they were hugging joyfully. Judas turned to go, but at that moment Simon apparently decided to look over his shoulder and call his name.

 

Judas winced and turned back, to find Peter staring at him in disbelief.

 

"Hi," he said lamely.

 

"You're alive," said Peter.

 

"Yep," said Judas, did jazz hands as a kind of 'ta-dah' gesture, then wondered what the fuck he was doing.

 

"You killed Jess," he said, his face contorting in anger and confusion - probably at what the fuck Judas was even doing back here.

 

"Yes," said Judas, because he couldn't deny it. "I'm sorry."

 

"You're sorry? You're _sorry_? Is that all you can say?" It was lucky that Simon chose that moment to tighten his grip on Peter, who struggled to get free and get his hands in Judas. "Let me go, Si!" Peter yelled.

 

Simon just held on until Peter went limp in his arms, stroking his hair and whispering in his ear. Judas felt oddly lonely looking at them - that closeness, that intimacy, was something he had never had. Eventually he caught Simon's words. "Let's save that for later, hmm?" and Peter nodded in response and started to lead Simon inside.

 

"I'll just go, shall I?" asked Judas.

 

Both Peter and Simon turned. "No, what the fuck?" said Simon. Even Peter looked confused. "Come in and we'll figure this out."

 

"I don't want to be where I'm not wanted," muttered Judas, although he found himself wavering.

 

His resolve disappeared completely when Peter said, "oh just come inside, Judas." Judas jogged to catch up with them and stepped inside the house. "And close the door behind you," Peter added. He turned back to lock it all up again once Judas had pulled it shut. "You can't leave before you've seen...well...never mind. But you'll see." Peter very nearly grinned.

 

"What?" asked both Simon and Judas in unison.

 

"Never you mind," said Peter, cheekily. "Mary, Joseph, we've got visitors!" he called through the house.

 

Mary was the first out into the hallway to greet them. She screamed when she saw Simon and immediately engulfed him in a hug, drawing back to kiss both his cheeks. Judas tried to hang back again, awkward, so it came as a surprise when Mary, having finished with Simon, launched herself onto Judas to hug him as well.

 

"You're both alive!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

 

"Well, half alive in my case," said Judas. Mary grinned at him.

 

"Well, I know somebody else who's half-alive who'll be extremely pleased to see you," she said, turning to Joseph, who was just coming up the hallway behind her, shaking Simon's hand delightedly. She raised her eyebrow at him pointedly.

 

Joseph glanced at Judas. "Oh, yes, uh, he's just upstairs, he didn't fancy coming out to meet any visitors, but, uh...he'll probably want to see you two," he said, winking at Judas.

 

A smile of dawning realisation was slowly spreading on Simon's face, but Judas was at a loss. Who could be-? Then it hit him. But no, surely not. He wouldn't believe it. He couldn't. Not until he was presented with the evidence of his own eyes.

 

Joseph had gone to get him, and despite himself, Judas's heart was racing. It couldn't be him, could it? Surely Jesus wouldn't have risen a monster like him. The only other option would be for him to truly have risen, the Messiah and the Son of God bullshit proven, and even after the Rising that was still so unlikely that Judas dismissed it out of hand.

 

Judas glanced around at all of them, eyes flicking from Mary to Peter to Simon to Joseph’s retreating back. “Is he-?” he started to say, but bit off the question at its root, angry and embarrassed at himself for even hoping.

 

Jesus closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep when he heard Joseph’s footsteps outside his door, and buried his face in his pillow when Joseph entered his room all the same.

 

“Jesus,” said his dad gently, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Jesus couldn’t bear such tenderness, not when he was still grieving, hurting, not when Joseph was so clearly still grieving himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joseph poke his tongue out the side of his mouth and lick his lips, the way he did when he was trying to figure out how to word something. “You need to come,” he said eventually.

 

Jesus nearly burrowed into the bedclothes further, nearly let out a petulant ‘why?’ or worse, screamed at his dad just to go away and leave him alone, all of them just leave him alone. But there was a firmness in Joseph’s voice, one that Jesus had rarely heard but that demanded he follow. And why not? He had had enough of leading, of being the one to command. Why not be the follower for once?

 

These were his thoughts, as he heaved himself out of bed, lurched down the corridor after Joseph, still unused to the way his body worked now. Joseph kept glancing at him, and Jesus wanted to ask what it was, what Joseph was leading him to, why it was so important. He even met Joseph’s gaze and held it, silently asking the obvious. Joseph held the eye contact for only a moment, before shaking his head and continuing on. “You’ll see,” he said.

 

When he saw Judas, every other thought was knocked out of his head. His eyes locked on Judas, and he could see nothing else, not the hallway or the front door or his friends gathered around them.

 

They stumbled towards each other, almost running in their haste.

 

Then Judas was there in front of him, looking at him like he couldn't believe it, like he really was the Messiah, and Jesus couldn't bear it, not that, not _now_ ; he took in his waxy skin and the scars around his neck and the way he was looking at him and Jesus couldn't stand Judas looking at him like that for one moment longer.

 

So he slapped him in the face.

 

Judas looked at him open-mouthed for a second, then bowed his head. “I suppose I deserved that.”

 

Jesus resisted the urge to slap him again. “Fuck you,” he spat instead, and he could feel the others’s eyes on him, feel them staring, and he felt itchy with it. He couldn’t do this here, now, with everyone watching and listening and _hearing_.

 

Judas nodded and looked at him wide-eyed. Then something in him seemed to break and he wilted. “Fuck, I- we can’t do this here. Look, maybe it’s best if I just go, Jesus.”

Whatever his feelings towards Judas were at this moment, the last thing Jesus wanted Judas to do was leave. “No- don’t-” he said, reaching a hand out to Judas, who flinched at the contact. Jesus closed his eyes, took deep breaths, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. “Please,” he said, looking imploringly at Judas, and Judas stared at him a moment, confusion in his expression, before nodding.

 

It was only then he noticed that Judas was shaking. He glanced around at the others, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Simon was there, he noticed, alive, but he could hardly bring himself to care about him in this moment. He could only care about Judas. It had always been Judas he cared about the most, if he was truly honest with himself. Whether it was burning anger or joy, lighter than air, he had always felt the most when Judas was around. He had always been more human when Judas was around. “Will you let us have the lounge, please?” he said to the others.

 

They all nodded or murmured their agreement, and went in various directions to give them their privacy, as Jesus led Judas to the main living room. Once there, Judas slumped down on the sofa, exhausted, while Jesus paced the room, suddenly so full of energy he was fit to burst. He had so many questions he didn’t know where to start, so much to say and so much he wanted, needed to hear from Judas as well.

 

“What the hell happened?” he asked, thinking it was as good a place as any to start. He kicked the side of the sofa  at the other end of the room in frustration. Then he noticed Judas hadn’t answered him. He turned to see Judas curled into himself on the sofa, sobbing into his hands. He probably hadn’t even heard what Jesus had said.

 

Jesus crumpled, and sank down onto the sofa next to Judas, his best and oldest friend, his betrayer, the man he loved. He rested his head on this same man’s shoulder, cautiously.

 

“I love you,” Judas blurted out suddenly. It wasn’t the right moment, probably, but when had it ever been, for them? “I’m sorry, I know you have a lot of shouting to do at me, and God knows, I’m still fucking angry about it all as well, but I never actually fucking told you when were both alive- well,” he said, face curving into a bitter smile, “more alive. Properly alive. Not like this.”

 

Jesus matched Judas’s bitter grin with one of his own. Then he sighed. “I love you too. _Fuck_ , Judas, I love you so fucking much, and I never even told you. I thought it was obvious but,” he let out a little snort of laughter, “obviously not.”

 

Judas turned to look at him in shock. “Really?” And how could he not have known? But then, Jesus thought, of course he hadn’t known. This man, who had always seen himself as so small, so inconsequential, so unimportant...how could he ever have realised how big he was to Jesus, how important, how _vital_?

 

“I never told you. I should have told you. I-I’m sorry,” he said, and Judas’s arm went cautiously around his shoulders, the first physical contact Judas had initiated.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” said Judas, stroking his back soothingly, and Jesus could feel himself calming down, letting go just slightly - yes, tears were still falling from his eyes, but they went unheeded now, and they were comforting, healing, rather than painful.

 

“Something else always got in the way. Something else always seemed more important.” Judas started to speak, but Jesus held a finger up, pleading with Judas to let him finish. “And it was important,” he said. “But nothing is more important to me than you, understand, Judas? Nothing.”

 

Judas hugged him properly then, although perhaps it would have been more accurate to say he fell on him, weeping, and Jesus held him tightly.

 

“I loved you for so long,” murmured Judas into his shoulder. “I never thought I had a hope of you ever feeling the same way back.”

 

Jesus just held on tighter, trying to find the will to speak through the lump in his throat. “Well, have hope,” he said, and it came out just a little teasing, and Judas laughed. And Jesus laughed too, but then he remembered that Judas had killed himself, killed himself because he couldn’t bear to live with what he had done to Jesus, and he was overwhelmed with sobs again.

 

They clung to each other a while, before Judas drew back and said seriously, “I’m sorry. For everything.”

 

“For betraying me?” Judas nodded. “For killing yourself?” Another nod. “I’m so angry about that,” said Jesus. “More than the betrayal, which was supposed to happen anyway. It just- if it hadn’t been for whatever twist of fate brought us both back, I’d have lost you forever.” He tilted Judas’s chin up to look at him. “I thought I had. And I’ve not been able to bear it, the past few days. I’ve barely left that room, barely left my bed, barely stopped crying. And I know it’s not fair for me to blame you, for doing that to yourself,” he said, eyeing the rope scars around Judas’s neck but not quite daring to touch them, make them real, “because I know you were depressed, are depressed, have been for as long as I’ve known you, and I know I didn’t exactly help,” he silenced Judas again as he made to interrupt Jesus, “but I can’t help being angry at you for that, a bit.”

 

Judas nodded. “That’s fair. Although for the record, I’m still fucking mad as hell that you somehow felt like you had to go off on one and get yourself killed, just so you could what? Prove a point? Come back from the dead, prove yourself the Messiah, the son of God? Well, one out of three I guess, you’re back from the dead, but so am I and so is every other inhuman brain-eating _monster_ that rose that bloody night.” The venom in his voice was more than Judas had intended, but Jesus had started it, and damn, he was really feeling it now. He loved this man with every scrap of his wasted soul (if he even had a soul, if he even believed in such thing as souls), but he had been so bloody wrong, in every single way, and they had both sacrificed so much for it.

 

Jesus sighed. “You’re not a monster, Judas,” he said, tiredly. He could barely find the strength to counter Judas’s other points, but arguing with him came so naturally that he couldn’t stop himself contradicting him on that one point, at least.

 

“No, I am, I am,” said Judas, bitterly. “You might not be, you might still be a bloody saint even underneath those contacts and all that cover up mousse, but I fucking killed people, Jesus. I killed people even before I became this, I killed you through my own hubris and anger and fear and fucking jealousy, and I came back and you know what the first thing I did was? Kill someone else. You might not be a monster, but I sure as hell am.”

 

Jesus snorted. “You think you’re special? You think I’m some kind of saint, when I rose from the dead exactly like you did, hurt and killed people exactly like you did, exactly like a thousand other Risen did that night and for countless nights after? If you’re a monster, Judas, then so am I.”

 

Judas looked up at him calculatingly for a second, then just let out a huff. Jesus sagged in relief.

 

There came a knock at the door. Both of them jumped, before Joseph’s head peered its way round the doorframe. “I’m sorry to bother you kids, but you’ve been in here quite a while. You want some food? I’m making burgers!”

 

Judas let out a strangled sound that Jesus was sure was almost a laugh.

 

“No,” he said, while Judas sniggered beside him. “No thanks, dad, we don’t eat, remember?”

 

“Oh,” said Joseph, looking put out for a second. “Oh yeah. Sorry, son. You carry on.” He exited, and Jesus grinned at Judas’s sniggers, which were now turning into full-on chokes and pants of laughter.

 

“You’re like me,” said Jesus softly, after the laughter had faded. “I’m like you. Don’t you see?”

 

Judas looked at him softly, and nodded. Then, as if only just remembering, he exclaimed, “Simon! Simon’s back, and alive! You haven’t seen Simon yet! I’ve been monopolising your time, and-”

 

Jesus stopped him with a finger on Judas’s lips, and Judas went cross-eyed to stare at it, then to flick his eyes back to Jesus’s, intensely vulnerable. Jesus felt the rough, chapped skin of Judas’s lips against his finger, and smiled, calm as only a man who knew exactly what he needed to do next could be.

 

“I’ll go and see Simon,” Jesus said, smiling, lighter than he’d felt in...perhaps all his life. “To be honest, I’m sure he appreciated the time to catch up with Peter and Mary. But there’s one thing I have to do first.”

 

“What’s that?” asked Judas, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Jesus kissed him.


End file.
